The Den Mother and Her Cubs
by trueblood
Summary: It would astound many people to know that beyond that black untidy hair, Minerva McGonagall wouldn’t be able to explain what The Boy Who Lived actually looked like. McGonagall introspective. Rated for implied deaths! Spoilers through all books!


**Title:** The Den Mother and Her Cubs  
**By: **Trueblood  
**Rating:** PG (over rated for implied deaths)  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine! Sadly.  
**Warning: **Implied deaths! Spoilers all the way through to DH. Kind of.

**A/N: **Inspired by **Jill the's,** The world will change again.It's brilliant! Go read!  
Any errors should be reported to me as I can be a big dork. All questions go to the lady at the desk!

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Minerva McGonagall had seen many things in her years at Hogwarts. By now she had, had hundreds of children in her care as Head of Gryffindor. She tried to remember every face and attitude of every person in her house since, well since it had become _her _house.

They were her little lion cubs. She was their den mother. Not that she'd ever admit that to another living soul as long as she lived. It was horrendously sentimental and more than a little cheesy, but in the abyss of her mind she found she quite liked thinking of them as such.

During her first year as Head of House; she had found herself capturing mental photographs of the children's faces. Some of them were eager and bright for learning, others were half hidden by hair that tried to shadow them from the world, and still others had mischievous glints in their eyes and wicked smiles on their faces. Obviously certain people and events were more prominent in her mind, but everyone that had ever been in her house had a place in her memories and heart.

It pained her to no extent that some of her cubs had been "shot down" too soon in their young lives. She vaguely remembered the lyrics to a muggle song that she undoubtedly heard from some of the children, only the good die young. The few classes at the end of the 70's had certainly taken that to heart, and those that hadn't probably wished they had.

Ah, the joys of being a Gryffindor and in a war.

She had never had a problem putting faces to names and vice versa, with one exception.

Harry Potter.

The poor dear was probably extremely tired of being the only exception. Alas, she couldn't help it. Every time she saw that untidy, to put it politely, black hair she expected to see Sirius right next to him. Yet, every time, she was shocked to see a blinding orange color where silky black should be. It would astound many people to know that without that telltale black untidy hair, she wouldn't be able to tell you what The Boy Who Lived actually looked like. She couldn't tell you about his nose or any other distinguishing facial feature because she honestly didn't see him. She saw James.

Oh, she knew he had his mother's eyes and James's hair, yet beyond that she couldn't tell you much. All she saw was James and with him came Sirius, then Remus and finally Peter. Always that order. Always.

Yet, in Remus's place was a bushy haired girl that was almost as bookish as he had been. Peter didn't have a place in their world, but if she had to pick her first thought would be Neville. However, due to recent events she had determined that Neville didn't deserve to be associated with the spy. She silently apologized to the boy for thinking about him in such standards. Truly, Longbottom had become a brilliant Gryffindor as the time had passed, a little clumsy, but not too bad a Gryffindor. She was proud, but back to Potter.

If there was one Gryffindor that should have a piece in her memories and heart it was Harry. Yet, she just couldn't see him. She saw James and, at times, Lily. The poor boy.

At first she felt like a horrible person, but after a while she started thinking. Harry had so many people that would remember and honor him that, maybe; her subconscious felt it was unnecessary to take a picture. What did James have? Who remembered him? One man that loathed him beyond anything she had ever seen. Maybe, James was the one that needed the place in her mind. After all who would remember the father of the Boy Who Lived? Not many, besides her and a potions master.

Oh, and Sirius would need it as well. The poor darling had been thrown out of his house and blasted off the Black Tapestry, she heard. Beyond the last few Blacks no one would remember the only man that had ever escaped Azkaban. Even when she had thought he was a murderer, she had been proud of that. A little nervous over her house's safety, but never the less, proud at her cub. Then again that one could always sneak his way out of trouble. Well, a few young girls would remember their first crush, but they had never known Sirius, only his pretty face. But, he was gone now as well. Behind a veil, Sirius deserved better.

At least Remus would be remembered through his family now. She had been thrilled at the prospect of someone loving her little were-cub. He was always so shy.

So, as she reads the names off the list to begin the sorting she takes a moment after every new Gryffindor is called and mentally snaps a shot. She would never know if she was going to be the only one who remembered. If her cubs had taught her anything it would be the ones that no one suspected that needed her remembering. Not the overly obvious heroes.

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**A/N:** Please Read and Review! 


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